


A Double Present

by Mandibles



Series: In which both Shepard and Vega are dumbasses when it comes to love [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Attempted massage that doesn't last long at all, EDI and Vega in cahoots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard's birthday falls on the same day of Udina's coup. Vega decides to celebrate it, whether Shepard likes it or not. And, Kaidan pokes his head in for angsty goodness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Double Present

**Author's Note:**

> A dual-fill of this:
> 
> Shepard's birthday happens in the middle of Reaper invasion. He's not looking to celebrate it under the circumstances, but his boyfriend still wants to do something special for him.
> 
> I prefer Vega (damn you, BioWare! *shakes fist*) to be the boyfriend, but Kaidan or Steve or even Joker or Garrus work.
> 
> And this:
> 
> Shepard is under alot of stress during the Reaper war. Vega (or Kaidan, love interest) suggests a massage back in Shepard's cabin. Which turns into sexy time.
> 
> Bonus points for Liara giving advice to Vega (or Kadian) about Asari style massages, nipple clamps, orgasm denial, Shepard being bottom.

The fight on the Citadel takes—it takes a lot out of Shepard. It takes almost everything out of Shepard. Between Udina’s betrayal, Kai Leng’s attack, and Thane’s . . . (death, say it, death, it’s not a hard word), he’s been in a constant, thick haze. He remembers being at Thane’s bedside, remembers saying the prayer from the book, remembers Thane’s closed eyes, remembers Kolyat’s words afterwards, but he can’t recall walk back to the Normandy, he can’t—

“Commander?”

Shepard’s feet stop so fast, his top half tips and—oh, hey, here’s the Bridge. That means he’s made it to the Normandy in one piece, which is good.

“Joker,” he greets, nodding to EDI as he draws closer. 

Joker watches him carefully. “So, Thane’s—”

“Dead,” Shepard finishes, and his voice only cracks a little.

A moment passes.

“I’m sorry, Commander. He was good guy, even though, you know, he could probably snap my neck even on his deathbed.”

Shepard snorts. “Yes, that’s true. Kolyat was there, which was good. He went peacefully at least.” He falters a bit.

Joker doesn’t miss it. 

“You . . . You going to be okay?”

Shepard offers a smile, hoping that’s convincing enough. “Eventually,” he finally says, and at least it’s the truth. He pulls away. “I should get going. Big Commander-type-things to do and all.”

“Right.” Joker grins. “Lots of wandering around the galaxy to pick up random objects for people-type-things to do. Same ol’, same ol’.” His expression changes. “Oh, by the way, Shep—”

But, Shepard’s already turning, leaving, not ready for the comforting words from Joker’s obvious pity. He just . . . He doesn’t think he can handle that right now. He needs a moment, just a moment, and he’ll be fine. 

“Commander?”

At least he doesn’t almost topple forward this time.

“Specialist Traynor. Anything I should know?”

Traynor smiles kindly. “You have messages. Besides that, not much, sir.”

Shepard nods. “Good. I’ll just take those in my cabin, shall I?”

“You do deserve a break after all that.” She blinks. “Oh, and, sir, h—”

But, the elevator is hissing shut behind Shepard and all he can think of are sheets and pillows and his fish and his bedroom doors hissing open and—

“Vega.”

The brat in question grins, uncrossing his legs. “Don’t sound so happy to see me, loco.”

Shepard scowls. “EDI! WHO—”

“I gave James access to your cabin, Commander.”

A twitch. “WHY—”

“I figured that James could be of good use to you.”

“That all I’m good for?” Vega snorts from the couch.

Shepard ignores him. “AND WHY—” Stop. Regroup. Restart. “And, why didn’t you warn me, at least?”

Silence. 

“Commander Shepard, James is requesting access to your cabin. Should I—”

“Not funny, EDI.”

Another pause.

“I apologize. I will be more straightforward next time.”

Then she’s gone, for good, and Shepard scowls, folding his arms as James lumbers towards him, grinning that dopey little grin. He sucks in a breath.

“THERE ISN’T GOING TO BE A NEXT TIME, GET ME, EDI?”

“Acknowledged, Commander. Happy birthday.”

Shepard slams a fist on his display case which cracks further (from that night that Shepard and James do not talk about ever) and caves in ever so slightly. “HAPPY WHA—”

Oh.

Oh.

He turns, dumbfounded, to James who steps up to him, a bottle in his hand. “Vega . . . What . . .”

Vega smiles, lays a hand on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, loco. Now,” he shoves the champagne in Shepard’s hands, “find a bottle opener and we can celebrate.”

Vega bounds down the stairs like a giddy puppy and plops bodily onto the couch; Shepard follows at a slower pace, the bottle clanking loudly when he drops it on the table. He frowns.

“Vega . . .”

The other man grins, shifts and pats the spot next to him. Shepard hesitates . . . but, complies, sitting beside him. 

“Look, kid, I don’t—”

“James is good.”

Shepard curls his tongue, tasting the word. “Right. James. Whatever. Seriously, though—”

“You get the bottle opener?” 

“No, I didn’t, but—”

James scoffs, stands. “Really? I just ask for this one thing. Where is it?”

“I . . . don’t fucking know, a drawer or something—Scratch that, listen to me, dammit—”

“Lube drawer? Probably in the lube drawer—aha! There it is!”

“VEGA!”

Vega doesn’t even twitch. He glances back at him, closes the drawer with his hip.

“Whut?”

Shepard sighs, cradles his growing headache. “I just . . . I’m just not up for this right now. I mean, thank you, thank you a lot, this is . . . nice. But I can’t—” He rubs his eyes. “It’s been a long day, okay?” 

His face is taken in two large, square hands. He mumbles wordlessly when Vega presses his forehead against his.

He remembers the way those lips kissed him, just that once, and—

No.

“Vega . . .”

“This isn’t . . .” Vega licks his lips. “I’m not being ‘gooey,’ alright? I’m being supportive. They are completely different things.”

Shepard frowns, fingers the hands on his face. “Okay, I believe that, I guess. But, still,” his fingers curl around Vega’s hands, pulls them away, “I just—This isn’t a good time for this. Maybe next week? Or next month?”

“Or next year? Maybe after the Reapers are dead and gone?”

A sheepish smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Vega rolls his eyes and stands. “They’ll start piling up like that, Shep. Besides what if we . . . don’t get the chance to do this again?” 

Shepard visibly deflates. He thinks of all the victims from the attack on Citadel, of Thane. There’s a pop and a rushing sound when Vega opens the champagne, pours it messily in two glasses. Shepard gladly accepts his glass.

“I can’t believe I forgot my own birthday,” he says in a small voice as Vega sits back on the couch next to him. 

Vega shrugs. “Happens to the best of us.”

“And I’m the best of us?”

A laugh. “More than you know.” He must consider that a toast, because his glass clinks against Shepard’s, and then he’s downing the entire thing. Shepard follows suit, though at an easier pace, and sinks into the cushions with a sigh.

Vega grins, nudges him.

“So, ready for your present?”

“Present?” Shepard frowns, placing his glass on the table. “Vega, no, I don’t need anything—”

“Pfft. Don’t worry about it, loco. This was a group effort.” The Lieutenant waves him off and stands. He pulls a plastic bag from the desk and tosses it. 

Shepard produces a bottle. “Oil?” He flicks the cap open, sniffs it suspiciously. “Smells nice.”

“Good. Now take off your shirt.”

“What—”

“I said, take off the shirt. Pants, too, actually.” Vega grins devilishly. He does this mock-bow, muscles bunching and stretching under his tight shirt. “The name’s James Vega and I’ll be your masseur tonight.” 

Shepard raises a brow, leans forward. Damn Vega, damn him and his fucking body and fucking musk and fucking doofy little face and—that son of a bitch is flexing on purpose! Now he just looks stupid. Still hot, but stupid. “And, everyone agreed on this? You manhandling it and all that.”

“I’m telling you, this is completely platonic, babe—”

“I’m not your ‘babe’—”

“And, yeah, they said I was the best choice.”

Shepard snorts. “Best choice? I would rather Adams than—where’s your shirt?” In my hands, he realizes, holding the article. Without thinking, he brings it to his nose, inhales, and—mm, oh yes, it’s been a while.

Leave it to Vega to play dirty. Bastard.

Vega moves closer, his trousers low on his hips. The sexy, sexy bastard.

Shepard falls back in his seat when Vega presses forward.

“So, you sure you don’t want your present?”

With a nice clear view of that collarbone, of that chest, is there any way he can say no? Shepard licks his lips. He suddenly craves that champagne.

“So, completely platonic, right?”

“Yeah, completely platonic.” 

“Really? What’s this, then?” 

Vega catches the bottle and goes from cocky to chicken in second. “Well, shit. Forgot that was in there.” He laughs, tosses the lubricant back. “Tingling Sensation.” 

Shepard drops it on the couch, stands. “Jackass. I’m telling you now, that’s _not_ happening tonight.”

“No?” Vega pulls up close, nose-to-nose, and if this fuck thinks that Commander-motherfuckin’-Shepard is scared of a guy who’s a wee bit taller than him, than he’s got another thing coming. Even if he’s hot. And smells amazing. And is a (mind-blowing) pretty decent lay.

“No.”

Vega stares for a moment more, then chuckles, warmth ghosting over Shepard’s face. 

“Alright, loco. If that’s what you feel like now.” A hand coils around Shepard’s face, lips grazing his ear. “I’ll oblige you.”

Shepard gives a shaky breath, trying his best not to cling to Vega’s warmth. “I swear, Vega,” he says firmly. “Don’t make me—”

“Relax, loco, this is about relieving stress,” Vega says, directing him to the bed. “Just take the shirt off—” He slides his guiding hand under Shepard’s shirt. “—and, the pants—” The hand slides down to hook into the waistband. “—and, then we can get started.” 

Shepard hums at the touch, but his scowl remains constant. “I’d relax if you weren’t such a dick.” Even so, he takes off his shirt, starts unbuttoning his trousers. He sits on the bed to take off his boots and—

“Let me,” Vega asks tightly, then he’s there, unlacing his boots like they’re the most delicate things his thick fingers have ever touched. A boot is pulled off and chucked; a sock is peeled off and dropped. Shepard can’t stop his smile when hands hold up his feet and a mouth envelopes his toe. 

He wriggles his toes. “Mm, nice, I like this.”

Vega chuckles, bites gently. “What do you mean? Me sucking your toes or me on my knees?”

Shepard takes a heavy breath when Vega licks a stripe up his foot. “Either? Both?” He eyes the champagne longingly. “I guess this is part of the massage right?”

“Nah, not really,” Vega says. He presses a kiss to the bottom of his foot. “This is more for me.”

Shepard laughs. “I’m actually okay with that.”

“You’re ‘okay’ with that? That’s new!” Vega starts undoing the other boot. “What’s the occasion? You know, besides your birthday?”

Shepard shrugs, watching patiently as the other man begins actually massaging something, thumbs rubbing roughly along the arch of his foot. “You indulged in my fetish; I’m letting you indulge in yours.” There’s a snort. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. That’s fair of you, I guess.”

A smile. “Well, I do try my best to be fair.”

Vega rolls his eyes, moving to massage the other foot. “Of course you do. Diplomacy and all that, right?” 

“Of cour—NO!” Shepard falls back onto the bed, trying to pull himself away from tickling fingers. Vega laughs loudly, climbs after him. “No, I swear to god, I will kill you—you motherfuckin’—ah!” The fingers draw upward to his sides, under his arms, and soon the room is filled with forced giggles along with the curses and Vega’s devilish chortles.

“No, get off, get off—THIS IS NOT RELAXING IN THE SLIGHTEST!”

Vega grins, his devilish fingers dragging up Shepard’s shirt. “Really? Because, I swear this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you—oh!” He lets out a wolf whistle. “Damn, loco, someone’s looking toned.”

Anger evaporates and Shepard can’t hide his pleased smirk. “Yeah, well, had to make up for lost time. Especially if I wanted to get in the ring with you again.”

“Cool.” With some maneuvering, the shirt is off and tossed. Vega runs his hand over the more pronounced ridges before crawling to the foot of the bed to help with Shepard’s trousers. “So, uh,” he says, tugging at pant legs. “Is that why I haven’t seen you around since . . . you know?”

Shepard raises his hips and cold air ghosts his legs as his pants are tossed away as well. 

“Vega, can we not—”

“I know, I know, but that’s it, isn’t it? Why you’ve been avoiding me—”

“I haven’t been avoiding anyone, Vega—”

“Okay, right, it’s just—”

“ _Vega_. Look, can we—” Shepard falls back on the bed, sighs. “Look, I’m ready for your massaging prowess or whatever, can we just—yeah?”

There’s a pause, then, “Yeah, you’re right. Since I’ve got you where I want you . . .” Vega smirks and the “I should take advantage of you,” though unsaid, hangs over them.  
Shepard rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself. “God, you have a one-tracked mind, but, yes, my body is ready and all that. For non-sexual exploits,” he adds rigidly.

Knuckles are cracked and Vega looks way too smug. “Okay, yeah, right. Just lay over here,” he pats the foot of the bed, “And, we can get this thing started.” 

Shepard complies and soon Vega towers over him. He exhales. “So, what’s first?”

Vega drops down to his knees. “Something simple: scalp massage. Just close your eyes.” His fingers go over Shepard’s eyes, his face, and that actually feels kind of okay, so Shepard eyes shut and his body settles. 

The movements are slow, if slightly rough, Vega’s fingers rubbing small, odd shapes. Shepard exhales loudly through his nose as he relaxes; he frowns slightly when he feels a responding sigh skim his face. Vega must be close for him to feel that, and, behind his eyelids, he can see Vega’s wide, stupid smile and his stupid flushed cheeks and those stupid brown eyes and that stupid, strange, sweet tune he’s humming and—

“Vega,” Shepard says abruptly, suddenly breathless.

The massaging motions stop. “Sup, Shepard?”

Shepard swallows. “Say something. Talk to me.”

There’s a pause, then Vega chuckles, beginning to stroke again. His voice is soft when he says, “What should I say?”

“Anything,” Shepard breathes. _Keep me away from these crazy thoughts_.

“All right.” The smack of lips and tongue. “So. You. Fucking krogans. What’s that about?”

“What? Why do you want to hear about that?” Shepard sputters.

Vega shrugs, his hands moving from his scalp to make small circles along Shepard’s face. “You mentioned it once or twice, so I figured you’d be up for talking about it. Since you’re probably the only human who’s fucked a krogan and lived, you’ve got bragging rights.”

“I don’t brag.”

“And, that’s a damn shame. I mean, you’ve done so much cool shit and you don’t talk about it!”

Shepard, ego mildly stroked, actually smiles. “I guess.”

“So?”

A pause, then Shepard rolls his eyes, leans into the hands on his face. “All right, all right. What do you want to know?”

“Okay, so—” There’s the sharp uncapping of a bottle and then hands rubbing against each other. Shepard hums at the sudden washing of warmth. When his hands, warm and slick, begin working on Shepard’s shoulders, he continues, “So, yeah, krogan. How many times have you, you know . . .”

“A few times.”

Vega raises an eyebrow. “That . . . actually sounds kind of honest.”

“Of course it does; it’s the truth.” Shepard makes an appreciative, strangled sound when Vega’s hands sweep down his collarbone to his chest, stroking and rubbing all the way. “I don’t lie.”

Vega snorts. “I never said that.” The air begins to smell of the oil, warm and sweet. “So, who were the lucky krogan, huh? Wrex, or that Grunt guy, or some other krogan?”

Silence.

“Loco?”

“Wrex. And Grunt.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

“ . . . At once?”

Shepard laughs, slipping his hands under his head as Vega begins to work at this abdominals. “Oh god, of course not. I don’t have a death wish.”

“All right.” There’s a sharp intake of breath when Vega’s fingers circle dangerously close to a nipple. “So, how—”

“Vega!”

“Whut?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Vega’s hand hesitates, then goes back to pinching, rolling the nipple it had been circling in thick fingers. “I’m not doing anything you don’t like.” The hand shifts further downward, fingers running along the waistband of his shorts. “You like camping, Shep?”

Shepard scowls. “ . . . As much as anyone else, I guess.”

A grin. “Really? Cause it seems you’re a pro at pitching tents—”

“Vega! Not. Funny. At all.”

“Really?”

“ _At all_.”

Vega mock-pouts. “Well, shit. And, here I thought I was being all suave. Welp.” He creeps his hand through the dark trailing of hair and under the black, regulation shorts to the straining erection there. Before he can wrap his hands around it, he is stopped by a firm grip.

“No, stop—”

“Oh shut the fuck _up_ , Shepard. Seriously.” Vega worms his hand from Shepard’s a grasp and _grabs_ ; a huff tears through the air, and Shepard’s hips cant upward. “If you really didn’t want this,” he whispers, “You would have stopped me a long time ago. Now tell me about those fucking krogan.”

“What?”

Vega leans in close, hand stroking foreskin, breathes, “They were huge, weren’t they, their cocks? What did they look like, huh?” Another stroke. A gasp from both of them. “How did they fuck you, John? _Tell me_.” 

There are moments in your life that are just so fucking surreal that all you can do is gawp like a fish out of water. This is one of those moments. And, covered in oil, being jacked off by a buff guy asking how he got fucked by krogan dick, and wishing he was really, really drunk, Shepard is looking like a freshly caught trout right about now. He gawps at Vega, flushed and hot and not sure whether to pull away or thrust into that fist. In the end, his hips continue moving and the words tumble out of him unbidden. 

“I—When Wrex and I first met, way back then, we—well, I mean, I guess it was inevitable, you know? We just—” Shepard licks his lips, huffs with Vega’s firm strokes. “I like krogan, all right? A lot. I mean, they are just so huge and powerful and passionate and stupid and—” Is he still talking about Wrex now? He isn’t sure. “I just fucking love krogan. I do.”  
Vega’s voice holds a slight tremor. “Oh god, Shep. Just—fuck—tell me about that first time, okay?” His hand leaves Shepard’s shorts, fingers trailing lines of oil and precome up his stomach. Shepard whines in the back of his throat, precome darkening his shorts further.

“No, don’t stop—” 

Vega shooshes him, moves so that he is at the foot of the bed. Large hands brace on his thighs, stroking the tender insides with thumbs. “Shh, it’s okay. I got this.” He uncaps the bottle again and pours more oil into his hands. “Just keep talking.”

A shaky breath. “I don’t think I can—I mean, I—where do I start?” Shepard arches, wanting nothing more than to be touched again. When his shorts are pulled down his hips, off his feet, he can’t bring himself to resist. Because, he does want this—whatever ‘this’ might be—and he wants it more than anything. And, that’s terrifying. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” Vega’s oiled hands trace careless patterns along his pelvis, making sure to touch without really _touching_ , and Shepard’s erection throbs pitifully. “Everything. Like—Like how it felt. His dick inside you,” he clarifies.

Shepard moans. “Amazing.”

“Tell me about it. More.”

There’s a moment filled with nothing but huffing breath, then, “It hurt at first—really, really hurt. At the time, I’d . . .” Shepard gives a short, breathless laugh. “I’d barely even had sex at all before, let alone with a krogan. I honestly thought I was going to die.” He laughs again at the memory, remembering how though he couldn’t stop the tears that had raced down his cheeks, he still wanted it so fucking badly. 

“But?” Vega presses verbally, physically pressing his thumbs behind Shepard’s knee. “It started to feel good, right? I didn’t really take you for a—”

Shepard rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face detracts from that. “It started to feel wonderful. I’d never felt so—so—so fucking _full_. Like he reached every part of me. So fucking surreal. And, the way he—” The sentence stalls there as Shepard hums when hands return to his chest, only for a moment. “I swear, I don’t think I’ve come that many times in my life.”

“Damn, like when you and I—”

“Oh god, _no_. That doesn’t even compare! I couldn’t _breathe_ after Wrex was done with me, I’d come so many times.”

There’s a stretch of silence, so long that Shepard actually looks up, concerned. He catches the very edge of _something_ , then, there’s that stupid, doofy grin of his. His lips brush Shepard’s ear, his hand back on his dick, when he says, “It’s the quality, not the quantity, right?” 

On any other occasion, Shepard would’ve _died_ laughing, if only at Vega rather than the cheesiness of that line. This is different, though. He’s not sure why, but it is. 

(It’s because it’s Vega. And, that’s starting to ‘mean something.’)

(Maybe.)

(And, ‘maybe’ probably means ‘yes’ in this case.)

“Prove it,” Shepard says finally. “If you could make me come harder than a krogan—than _Wrex_ —then . . .”

Vega raises an eyebrow. “I sense a challenge.”

A shrug. “I wouldn’t call it that. It’s a suggestion.”

“If that’s how you ‘suggest’ things—”

“I’m giving you permission to do me, dammit! Take the bait!”

Both eyebrows are raised. “Where the hell did that—”

“Commander Shepard,” comes a painfully familiar voice.

“What the _fuck_ , EDI?” Surprisingly, this near-shout comes from Vega.

Shepard paps him on the cheek. “EDI. Something wrong?” he asks a tad kinder.

The sentient AI is not fazed in the slightest. “I am sorry to disturb you, Commander, but Major Alenko wishes to come up.”

“ _Owshitfuck_!—VEGA.”

Vega quickly relinquishes his death grip on his Commander’s cock. He pulls away, kneels.

“ . . . Sorry.”

“’ _Sorry_ ’? You fucking—fucking—”

“Commander?”

Shepard scrubs at his face. “ _What, EDI_?”

“Major Alenko?”

“Oh. Right. Kaidan.” Shepard presses at his eyes, pulls at his face as he drags down his hands. “Is it important?”

“He says that it is not too pressing.”

“Then, uh, can it wait, then? I’m a little busy right now.”

Something akin to victory flashes across Vega’s face. But, it’s a look that he often wears, so it goes over Shepard’s head.

“He would like to know when you will be free.”

“Uh.” Shepard turns to Vega, shrugs. “An hour or so, I guess, EDI. That all right?” he asks the Lieutenant in a hushed tone. “I mean, it could be something important.”

Vega’s face falls. “But, EDI just said that it wasn’t important and—” He pouts. “Okay, no, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Shepard sighs, rolls his eyes. Vega is just a bundle of mood whiplash right now, and Shepard just can’t seem to keep up with it. He hardly wants to, really. “An hour should be good, EDI.”

“Very well, Commander.”

When her voice vanishes for good, Shepard falls back on the bed and sighs, feeling ever so slightly gross. He feels Vega watching him, gaze hard.

“So,” the Lieutenant breaks the silence, “Alenko’s back, huh?”

Shepard closes his eyes and nods. “Yep.”

“For good this time?”

“I really hope so.”

Silence returns, heavier this time, and Shepard actually cracks an eye open. He catches the very edge of something, something cold and maybe even hurt, across Vega’s face.

“Vega, what—”

“You—” Vega scratches his neck, restarts. “The two of you have history, right?”

It could’ve been the pose or the question or the pathetic way he asked it, but Shepard finally solves the equation.

“You’re not _jealous_ , are you—you are!” 

“Shut up!” Vega holds his cheeks, red as a monkey’s ass, like the little queen that he is. “I’m not—I just—”

It’s kind of pathetic. Sad. 

“Cute.”

“ _Cute_? I’m not trying to be fucking—what do you mean—I don’t—shit shit shit—”

Shepard waves away the rest of his words. “Relax. Which is something that I’m not doing, by the way. Can you suck it up enough to get back to this present of yours or should I spend the hour cleaning this mess?”

Vega scowls. “You can be a dick sometimes, you know that?”

“I know,” Shepard says with a shrug. “Only with you, of course. So, if your ego isn’t too wounded . . .”

There’s a snort, stubbornly folded arms. “And, if it is?” His eyes flick across Shepard’s body still. 

Shepard chuckles, strung on this sudden power he has over his Lieutenant. He stretches, his back arching, and runs his hands down his chest which is still slick with oil and sticky with drying precome.

“But, it’s my birthday, Mr. _Tingling Sensation_.”

Vega laughs, loud, and Shepard finds himself relieved. “That’s true, I guess. Dammit,” he says, dropping his forehead onto his Commander’s shoulder. “Why can’t I stay angry at you?”

“How should I know? But,” Shepard gropes down Vega’s chest, abs, down to his trousers, “take these off and maybe we’ll find out. We’ve got an hour.”  
Vega’s hand covers Shepard’s with warmth, cups the lump in his pants. “Let’s make the most of it.” 

He climbs off the bed with some difficulty, his hands scrabbling at his trousers. Soon enough, though, they are unzipped, tossed, and Shepard cannot help but _stare_ when Vega bends over to pick up the lube from the couch. He turns and grins, waving the bottle. 

“Told you we’d end up using it.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “Just get back over here, will you?”

A laugh is forced out of him when Vega dives in, his kiss deep, all tongue, and good. Messy, but good. It’s because of that that he lets Vega’s arms fold around him, lets him take control as tongues are joined by teeth and nips. There’s a giggle when they roll and switch positions that definitely doesn’t come from Shepard. He does smile into the kiss, though, his nails scoring lines down that chest.

“What’s this, Lieutenant?” Shepard asks, emphasizing what he means as he wiggles his hips.

Vega grins up at the man straddling him, his hands skittering up his sides. “It’s your birthday.”

“What happened to you fucking me like a krogan?”

“I figured that could wait.” A shrug. “You know, until next time.”

“How can you be sure there will be a ‘next time’?”

“Because—” Vega’s confidence falters, drops. He looks up at Shepard uncertainly. “Um.”

That damned puppy dog look pulls heartstrings and forces Shepard to take pity. He pinches Vega’s cheek. “You poor, jealous bastard.”

Vega sulks. “I’m not—”

“Bullshit.” He cups his chin, pulls him into another, briefer kiss. Brief as it is, there’s a dopey, doe-eyed look from Vega when they pull apart. Shepard raises an eyebrow. “You all right?”

Vega’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah, I’m just—yeah. Let me . . .” He runs a hand down his Commander’s back, slips fingers between his cheeks, over his hole. 

Shepard pulls at his foreskin, stroking himself back to full hardness. “Get some lube on that and you’ve got a deal.”

Vega chuckles and draws his hand away, only to return it a few moments later, cold slick over his fingertips. Shepard leans forward, spreads his legs, jerks himself, and accepts the first finger, then the second, then the third. He sighs as those fingers rub and stretch; he groans when they begin to twist. 

“Vega . . .”

A grin. “So. Tingling yet?” 

And, then Shepard realizes that it is, ever so slightly. Just enough for Shepard to feel it without being weirded out.

“Mm. Try some yourself.” There’s the familiar, insistent rub of a cockhead against Shepard’s ass and he reaches back for it with a smile of his own. He can feel Vega’s pulse gallop as he strokes lube on his erection. “Feel it?”

Vega exhales, nods. His jaw wobbles when Shepard positions him at his entrance. “Shepard.”

The man in question hums. “What’s wrong, Vega— _shit_.” He winces when the head breaches the ring of muscle, tries to relax as his body opens up to every inch. He probably wasn’t as prepared as he thought he was, be he honestly can’t find it in himself to care too much. Once he’s fully seated, it’s like all the air has been forced out of his lungs. 

“Oh fuuuck.” This breathy moan comes from Vega who shifts, digs his heels in the bed and clutches his hips. “Jesus, Shepard, I just—fuckfucktight—”

Shepard rolls his eyes, laughs tightly. “Get a hold of yourself, Vega. I haven’t even started moving yet!”

“Then start,” Vega growls. He thrusts once, but quickly restrains himself, waiting for Shepard to take charge. Which he does, eventually, with blunt nails digging into Vega’s shoulders and torturously slow rolls of his hips. The pleasure builds gradually instead of spiking, seeping under his skin, pooling in his stomach and it’s just so good. Vega must feel it too if his eyes, wide, round, and pupils blown, are anything to go by. 

Vega sucks in a breath when Shepard drops forward to his elbows, noses into the crook of Vega’s neck. Shepard hums at the fingers that trail up his back, the arms that wrap around him. And, it smells so good of sweat and precome and oil, Shepard forces himself to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t hyperventilate. 

“So, how’re you liking phase two of your present?”

A chuckle. “A lot.”

“A lot?”

“A lot, a lot.”

Vega laughs, pulls his Commander up for a kiss of lips and tongues that Shepard sure as hell doesn’t melt into and it’s all nice and good and terribly . . . 

Domestic.

“Mm, Shep.”

Shepard grinds down a little harder. When did his heart start beating so loudly?

“Ah, yeah, fuck.” 

A moan. That curling pleasure charges, builds, as the rhythm Shepard has barely been maintaining quickens along with his pulse.

“So good, yeah.”

Shepard’s arms begin to shake; he groans low. The body beneath him shifts, arms clutching him, strong hips now meeting his with deep thrusts. 

“Shepard—Shepard—John, fuck—”

“ _Touch me_ ,” Shepard pleads, his voice breaking. “Please, I—”

Vega claims his lips, reaches between them for the cock soaking his stomach with precome. He runs a soothing hand down his spine as he strokes firmly, roughly. Curling into his contracting muscles, his legs beginning to spasm, Shepard whimpers urgently. 

“Come on, John,” he pushes, his voice this strange, delicious gruffness. “Come for me.”

Shepard doesn’t come _for_ him. But, he does come, hard, ecstasy bubbling within him, a wave of bliss washing over and out in a sticky mess between their stomachs, over Vega’s hand. He exhales deeply, collapses atop Vega when his arms give out and Vega rumbles, wraps around him, cradles him.

But, Shepard can’t let himself relax, his hips still rocking. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs before Vega can pull out. “Keep going. More.”

Vega doesn’t hesitate and holds Shepard by his hips, thrusts. After a hoarse whine from his Commander, he asks, “Doesn’t this hurt, though? You’re probably so fucking sensitive—”

Shepard pushes himself upright, aftershocks from his orgasm still tingling along his skin. He cringes at the slimy feel of seed running down his abdomen, pooling in ridges of muscle. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t come so much. “As far as ‘hurt’ goes, this is— _ah_ —nothing. Besides, I like it.” Glancing down, he notices the bit lip, the gleam of sweat, and smiles. “You’re close.”

“Yeah,” Vega grits, his right arm starting to spasm. For a moment, his mouth works, but no sound comes out. Then, “G-Gonna . . .”

“Mm, shoot it.”

“Fuck yeah. Can I—”

“ _No_.”

“Goddammit!” Vega whines, but he pulls out and takes himself and Shepard, half-hard, into his grip. He throws his head back, huffs through his nose like a beast. “John—fuck—gonna—yeah—fuck— _ohmygod_ —” 

Shepard groans in sympathy as the dick pressed against his thickens, spurts white strands across tan skin. He follows soon after, soaking Vega further. Shepard slumps; Vega catches. There’s a shaky moment when they just . . . hold each other, and Shepard finds himself okay with that. 

A sigh. “That . . . was amazing.”

“That was different.” A chuckle. “But, yeah, pretty fucking good.”

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Mm-hm.”

A pause.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Shepard leans into the gentle touches along his cheek. Shame washes over him, but he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Can I tell you something?”

There’s his heart again. He should probably get that checked.

“I’m too tired to argue, so I suppose I’m at your mercy.”

“. . . Is that a yes?”

Rolled eyes. “Yes, it is.”

“Okay.” A gulp. “Okay, look. I know that I’ve been dropping, you know, hints and shit, but I haven’t . . . I haven’t actually told you that . . . well, that I, uh . . .”

“I know.”

A pause. “You know?”

“Mm-hm.”

Just don’t say it. Everything will be fine if you _don’t say it_.

(Still a part of him wants to hear it, wants it so badly.)

“Oh. Okay. Good. Then . . . good. Okay. . . . Then, I was wondering—”

Shepard curls into Vega’s chest, sticky with sweat and precome, and laughs. “I think it’s a little late to ask me out on a date, Lieutenant.”

Vega’s cheeks burn. “Does that mean that you’re okay with . . . us? You didn’t seem too sure last time.”

“I—” Shepard frowns, sighs. “I’m not—There’s a war going on out there, Vega.”

“I know that—” 

“We could die—”

“Isn’t that why we should—”

“We just can’t—”

Shepard grunts when he’s slammed into the mattress, the weight of the man above him crushing. Vega shoves his face close.

“Dammit, Shepard! I—”

“Commander Shepard.”

Vega groans, drops his head onto his shoulder. Shepard ignores EDI’s call.

“You what, Vega?”

Vega swallows loudly. He takes Shepard’s head into his hands and announces. “I think I might love you.”

Though it’s what Shepard’s expected for a while, what he’s _known_ , his chest still clenches when he actually hears it. He stares up nervously. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough.” 

“Oh _please_ —”

“Commander—”

“One fucking second, EDI!” Vega turns back to Shepard. “Look, just . . . If you don’t want to do this, just tell me—”

“It’s not about _want_ —”

“ _Tell me_.”

“I—I—”

“Commander Shepard, I am sorry to interrupt, but Major Kaidan will be arriving at your cabin in ten minutes.”

Shepard and Vega exchange looks. 

“I think it’s time for you to go.” He winces at the pure hurt across Vega’s face, but keeps his jaw firm. “I have some cleaning to do.”

Vega hesitates, then pulls away, eyes dark. He sighs and rubs his neck. “I’ll help, I guess.”

Shepard props himself up by his elbows. “You don’t need to—”

“I _want_ to.” Shepard winces again. “Besides, this is my mess, too.” Vega climbs off the bed, cracks his knuckles. He glances back. “So, um, towels?”  
“Same place as last time.”

“Right.”

The cleanup is short, swift, and terrifyingly awkward. After they wipe the come and oil from their bodies with warm, damp rags, stuff the stained sheets into the hamper, and generally tidy up, they begin to dress. Shepard blushes as he hands Vega the underwear that he was so close to putting on. When they’re finally dressed, they stand around; Vega’s stare is probing and Shepard pointedly tries to avoid it.

“So I’m guessing your answer is no.”

“Vega—”

“ _Stop_. Just—” Vega scratches his head. “Look, I know you can’t possibly lo—feel the same way about me. But, I just don’t want to keep hoping if you don’t—”  
“I thought we dropped this—”

Vega’s face contorts and it’s the first real anger Shepard’s seen on him in a while. “ _Dropped it_? It’s not something that can be ‘dropped’ just on your say so!”

Shepard steels himself, puts his ‘diplomat’ face on. “You’re right. I apologize for not being sensitive to your feelings,” he licks his lips, “but—” He sighs. “Can we just not talk about this now? Please?”

“I knew it.” With a groan, Vega rubs his face, begins to pace. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I shoulda kept my damned mouth shut.”

Normally, Shepard wouldn’t disagree with that last part, but he senses that the situation has gotten too sensitive for insult-blanketed humor. “Why _did_ you tell me?” he finds himself asking instead.

Vega stops pacing. He points at the door accusingly. “I didn’t want _him_ to get in the way.”

“’Him’? Him who?” It clicks and Shepard blinks. “. . . Kaidan. _Kaidan_?”

Vega looks away; he doesn’t deny it.

“You’re honestly jealous of Kaidan?” Shepard huffs a laugh. “What, do you think he has _feelings_ for me?”

“I know he does, and that’s the problem.”

Shepard folds his arms. “And, how’d you know that?”

Vega copies his stance and adds an indignant raised chin. “He looks at you the same way I do.”

That just sounds ridiculous, but Shepard can’t stop the fluttering feeling in his stomach. Because, well, Kaidan. Kaidan, the first guy Commander Shepard has ever really, well, crushed on like a hormone-crazed schoolgirl. That, though, was a very, very long time ago. There’s so much baggage between that will take time to clear, no matter how they try to patch it up. So much has changed since it was only Saren and the influence of one Reaper they were up against.

Still, if Kaidan declared his love for him right now, how would he feel? What would he say?

That unsettling thought eases him back to reality where Vega looks so crestfallen, he wonders for a moment if he could read his thoughts. But, no, it’s only EDI again, giving them an update that Kaidan is walking to the elevator and why is she giving them the play by play in the first place? She usually isn’t so nosy.

Vega’s shoulders slump, anger leaving him, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I should get going.” He begins to leave, but then stops, turns. “Can I ask one thing, though?”  
Shepard swallows, nods. “Sure.”

“Did you . . .” Vega’s cheeks darken; he runs his hands over his head. “I mean, I felt . . . something back there. I just want to know if, you know.”

Shepard remembers the arms wrapped around him, remembers the kisses between them, how natural it all felt. How _right_. 

Has he ever felt like that with Kaidan?

“I . . . did, I think. I felt something.”

“And, did you—”

“I liked it.”

Vega eyes light up, but he tries his hardest not to look too pleased. “Then, why are you still fighting this?”

“ _Vega_.”

The Lieutenant puts his hands up in defense. “All right, all right. We can talk about it later I guess.” He steps backward and the doors hiss open. “Just . . . give me a chance, all right? I could make you happy.” He pats the doorway. “Happy birthday, Commander.” 

Then, he’s finally gone, leaving Shepard feeling terribly guilty and unsettled in his skin. And, if he was one to admit it, a little heartsick.


End file.
